Skyrim: Stray Ember
by Natakate
Summary: Amelie the Breton never had any allusions to what she might one day become, but she had always hoped her life would amount to something more than begging on the street. The day she was kicked from Honorhall Orphanage, life looked to have served her a poor hand but the chance meeting of a stranger in the canals of Riften would change her life forever. (Adventure/Suspense/Romance)
1. Chapter 1

**Stray Ember**

* * *

She stumbled as Grelond the Kind gave her shoulder a rough push. The old woman, despite her small stature, was a hardened bag of a woman and once again the rumour of her being part hagraven passed through Amelie's mind. Those cruel, claw-like fingers made the young woman wonder sometimes if the whispered murmurs were true.

"Listen, you little Breton bitch, I want you gone by tonight." A rough nail dug into Amelie's arm as the fingers tightened about her bicep. "You hear me, child?"

Amelie nodded, not even a sign of a wince on her face as the nail ripped deep into her skin. She had been at Honorhall Orphanage since she was a babe and Grelond's cruelty was just another part of her life. The woman had given her countless beatings for no reason, abused and used her and the other children at the orphanage and in all honesty, Amelie was looking forward to stepping out the front doors of this terrible place and making her way into Riften.

"You've been here fifteen years now, since you turned up on the doorstep with naught but a letter in your tiny wee grubby hands and wearing the filthiest rags I ever seen."

She said nothing.

"What do you say, imp?" Her arm was shaken viciously.

"Thank you for your kindness, Grelond."

Grelond frowned disapprovingly before shoving Amelie away and stalking off. The young Breton gently rubbed her arm as she walked into the bunk hall and padded her barefooted way to her bed. Two of the younger children, perhaps ten years old, were scrubbing the floor and flashed friendly smiles at Amelie as she passed. Aside from Constance Michel, Amelie was the only older person in the orphanage that they knew and she was likely the kindest. Constance was a very gentle, loving sort but she didn't have the sisterly rapport that Amelie had with the younger children.

"Is she really letting you go?" Hroar the Nord asked, wringing the cloth in his hands to spill water on the floor.

"Grelond never lets anyone go," Samuel frowned. "If that was true, I would be gone already."

"True," Hroar agreed, making circular motions on the wooden floor with the cloth. "Aventus had to run away. Think we'd ever do that?"

Amelie knelt beside her bed and reached under the mattress, her fingers searching as she spoke. "Eventually you get too old to stay here, boys. That's why she's letting me go."

"So she's forcing you to leave." Samuel tilted his head back in a loud sigh. "Seriously? Right when we hear news the dragons are returning?"

"You know, I heard a dragon the other night."

"Shut up, Hroar, I don't believe you."

Amelie frowned, finally finding the small satchel beneath her mattress and tugging it free. "Hey, don't talk like that, Sam. He's right. I heard it too. All the guards were shouting and there were these horrible screams and yells. But I'll be all right. If I stay in the city limits, I should be fine." She tried to give the boys a reassuring smile but she felt it lacked genuinity. They seemed to feel the same thing.

"Dragons don't need to walk through gates to eat you."

"Yeah, they can fly and breathe fire and snow and stuff at you."

"Well, technically they're shouting."

The two boys looked at her with blank expressions then grinned. They knew Amelie tried to get her hands on any lore she could find, and the topic of dragons had arisen many more times than once. She had read them stories and legends, and recited poems and prose learned by heart. It was no secret among the children that she had many books hidden away all over the orphanage, away from Grelond's prying eyes.

"What do you reckon they're shouting?"

_"You're all fat!" _Hroar exclaimed, imitating an overdramatized deep voice. _"I want to eat you!"_

Samuel laughed before copying the voice. _"Now I'll cook you!"_

Amelie smiled a little at their antics before gently shaking her head. "As amazing as dragons are and how... un-worldy it seems for them to be back, it isn't a laughing matter. There are real life people out there dying now from these dragon attacks."

The boys sobered up. Their awkward, deep-furrowed expressions showed they were thinking about Amelie being out there on the streets of Riften. She knew what they were thinking as she had thought it a million times before. She was going to be out there without shelter, a job, or any money. Grelond wasn't going to waste what little coin the orphanage had on setting Amelie up for a life in Skyrim. She was on her own.

"We're going to miss you, Ame."

"I know. I'm going to miss you all too."

She glanced toward the window - the sky was already darkening. A deep sigh escaped her lips and she felt a strange feeling of nostalgia wash over her. It was her birthday today, and the only one who remembered or even knew was Grelond - and the only thing she had done was kick her out of the only home she knew. Amelie hadn't expected it to happen so immediately, but she had known it was coming.

Reaching under her bed, she pulled out a pair of worn shoes a little too big for her. They were hand-me-downs from Samuel's mother, a sickly woman Amelie had known in her earlier years before giving birth killed her. Tugging the shoes on, she sighed again.

"Let Runa and Fran know I will miss them, okay? I have to go."

* * *

Grelond slammed the door behind Amelie but she didn't even look back. Before her lay Riften, the dark descending like the shadow of a great bird over the city. She could hear the sounds of sparring from the guards outside the Keep and the chatter of the merchants as they closed up shop. Grelond had turned her out before she could join the children for dinner. Her stomach rumbled ruefully at the scents of food from both the Keep and the houses and establishments through Riften. There was a stink from the canals, but Amelie could happily ignore it with the tantalising smells of cooked beef and vegetable soups drawing her to the inn.

The Bee and Barb didn't exactly look the most inviting place from the outside but as Amelie pushed her way in the back door a warmth stole over her cold body. There were travellers and regulars of Riften eating and drinking inside, a bard playing a lute, a warm crackling fire, and the innkeeper was smiling her reptilian grin. A large group of Nord men pushed in the back door after her and she was swept along with them into the busy throng of all races.

She found herself pinned between a fat Argonian drinking mead and one of the large Nord men at the bar. Perching herself uncomfortably on a stool, she glanced at the Argonian. He was already leaning heavily on the bar and his head seemed to be moving in small circular motions as if he were trying to keep the room in focus. It was only mead, so she assumed he had been here drinking for a fairly long time. She turned her head to the left and found the Nord staring right at her, his yellow beard buried in the fur of his coat but the wide smirk all-too-visible.

"And what are you meant to be?"

She blinked at him owlishly. "Pardon?"

He turned from the bar, shifting on his stool to face his broad body towards Amelie. She felt small and vulnerable being the the sole point of his attention and glanced down awkwardly. He was dressed for travel and snow was melting in his beard and fur clothing. She could see leather armour beneath the cloak he wore and as he shifted the hilt of an ornate blade became visible at his belt.

"You look like something the skeever dragged in. You lost, girl?"

She felt her mouth open but there was nothing she could really say. Then her stomach growled aggressively. The Nord glanced down, brows raised in amusement before he chuckled.

"Not lost, but no better than a beggar, am I right?"

"I don't have gold, no."

"Then I suggest you get off my foot-stool."

In a movement of embarrassment, Amelie stood and turned to look at the stool she had been sitting on, wondering if she had truly mistaken its purpose. Before she could understand what had happened, the Nord thumped his big, dirty boots on the seat of the stool. Only then did she realise he had been trying to get rid of her. He smirked and reached his tongue out to touch the yellow bristles to the side of his mouth.

"Get lost, whore."

She stared at him as he turned his head back to the bar and laughed at something one of his companions had said. It was like she didn't exist, like she truly was just some orphan-scum that Grelond had tried again and again to convince her that she was useless and unwanted. She almost felt tears well in her eyes, but then the warmth rose from the pit of her stomach. There was fury in her heart and it quickly wrote itself across her face and made her clench her fists tightly.

She was out of Honorhall Orphanage. It was time to stand up for herself. She would not let herself be pushed about in the world as she had back in that place. There would be no more Grelonds in her life.

Her fist caught the corner of his mouth.

She pulled back her wrist and held her smarting knuckles as he merely turned his head to gaze at her, the lightest expression of surprise on his face. It immediately turned into an amused and dangerous smirk as his hand flew out and caught her by her hurting wrist. His grip was terrible and her lips parted in a grimace as his knuckles whitened about her wrist. His tongue flicked to the spot of blood on his lip where her fist had connected but he appeared to be in no pain. His companions were laughing, a few glancing jovially their way.

"Aw, poor babe. I stole your stool. Come on, put me in my place, girl."

His grip tightened and she squeaked in pain, certain she could feel a small snap in her bones. His beard bristled as he grinned and dropped his feet from the stool. He abruptly tugged her against him and his free hand reached down to lift up her backside onto his thigh, sitting her on his knee as easily as he would a small child. She tried to struggle against him but his grip around her wrist only tightened even more. He smiled, watching the colour drain from her face as his hand liberally felt the curve of her buttocks and thigh.

"I really don't feel you're doing a good job of showing me who's boss," he murmured in her ear, pulling her too close for comfort.

One of his friends laughed and leaned on the bar to get a better look at her, a scruffy mutt of a man with scars lining his face and several teeth set in gold. "Odvar, she one of those pointy-eared Bretons?"

His hand trailed from her thigh up her hip and waist, making its way over her chest - and lingering - before raising along her neck and brushing dark chestnut hair aside. His fingers again fell and his massive hand closed about one side of her waist as he leaned forward, his tongue flicking at her ear before his lips closed about the tip and suckled for a moment. She felt an unpleasant shiver pass down her spine and she arched her body to get away from him. He let her ear slip from his mouth, a trail of drool dangling before making the plummet to the floor, and smirked.

"Aye, that she is."

Her heart was hammering painfully behind her ribs and she could see her wide, terrified eyes reflected in his cruel, blue pools. She should have just slunk off. She should never have challenged him. What was she thinking!? She was but a Breton girl and nobody here cared about her. They didn't care if this 'Odvar' dragged her upstairs and had his way with her. They didn't care if she ended up floating face-down in the canals the next day. She was to stick up for herself, but there was nothing she could do to actually protect herself.

Odvar seemed to be thinking the same thing. He moved her off his lap and stood, his grip still unbearably tight about her small wrist. Tears were freely streaming down her face now and she stared in stunned silence at the other patrons as she was herded past them. Not one seemed to notice her and her fear turned to terror, her feet feeling heavier with each step as Odvar's free hand closed about the front door's knob.

For a moment there was a glimmer of hope that he would just throw her out into the cold. However, that hope quickly fled as he shoved her out ahead of him and shut the door behind them. Snowflakes fluttered down from the skies and more than just the chill of the worsening weather sent another shiver down Amelie's spine. Odvar tugged her close, his breath warm on her face as he caught her jaw in one hand and tilted her head back. She whimpered as he pressed a wet kiss to her throat and again tried to push him away but his grip squeezed about her wrist. While her hand was in his there was nothing she could do to stop him.

It was so dark, the lanterns were dimmed and there wasn't a guard in sight. A lump settled in Amelie's throat.

He pushed her to the left of the door, backing her up until her back and thighs pressed against a railing on the deck. She turned her head slightly to the side, looking down and realising she was just over the canal. His hand again caught her jaw, this time more forcefully, and his thumb reached up to brush over her lips. She trembled and he grinned that wicked smirk, his face coming nearer. His eyes were drawn to her lips.

She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter a sound his hand quickly slapped across the lower half of her face. The strike was vicious and she dangled by her wrist as he held her up, blood dripping from her split lip. He tugged her to her feet and slammed her back against the railing again, his hips pressuring against her as he reached around her and started unbuttoning the back of her dress.

Her own blood stained her mouth with a foul metallic taste. His sweaty hand pressed across her mouth and abruptly she smushed her tongue into his palm. His face registered a flicker of surprise and his grip lessened just slightly. That was when she buried her teeth in the joint of his thumb.

His scream ripped through the snowy air and he pulled back both his hands, taking a step back. She didn't hold on, the blood in her mouth both hers and Odvar's, but she felt a sickening crunch and tear as she yanked her head back. The momentum of her motion sent her over the rail, head-over-heels, and she flailed her arms wildly as she fell. A blood-curdling scream rent the air but it was lost on deaf ears as she plunged into the icy water of the canals.

* * *

The ripples had long settled before Odvar was ushered away by his companions and several guards who had come running at the sound of the scream. Blood had sprayed across the railings and dripped down as little crimson jewels into the cold waters of the canal. At first, groggy and disorientated, her lungs crying out for air, Amelie hadn't realised what had happened. Only when she saw the rapidly paling object floating above her in the water did she understand.

She had torn his left thumb off.

Numbness stole over her body as her cheeks ballooned with what little air she had left, trying to force it back down into her lungs. Only when all sounds above had faded did she allow herself to slowly float up to the surface, bubbles escaping her lips. She gasped, her lungs burning with a fiery pain while the rest of her body just felt like limp, cold flesh.

She barely had the strength to drag her frozen body up onto the nearest boat dock in the canal. Laying there beside the bobbing rowboats, she shivered violently and held her injured wrist to her chest. She didn't know how long she had remained still in the water, or how her lungs had managed to hold out for so long but she didn't care to try and find answers.

Amelie's remaining uninjured fist clenched angrily but what little fury left to muster just melted away into tears. She scrabbled closer to the underside of Riften, hiding herself from prying eyes above and protecting herself from the cold flakes of snow. She tucked her chin and wrapped her arms about herself, her soaking cold dress pressing to her skin. The tears wouldn't stop and she didn't try to halt them.

The taste of blood had left her in the water but she could still feel the horrible snap of bone between her teeth. The doughy, yet leathery feel of the skin and flesh ripping haunted her and she shut her eyes against the memory. Her eyelids did nothing to stop the thoughts and quiet sobs wracked her shivering body.

Cold numbness turned to warmth but it was not pleasant. She knew she was losing consciousness but there was nothing she could do. Soon it started to not even matter. The rippling of the canal, the silence of the snow, the distant howling of a wolf - all sounds and sensations blurred together into a nothingness. The numbness turned to nothing. She felt nothing, and her mind didn't tell her anything - she was meant to feel nothing.

Her ears didn't hear, only feel, the heavy thuds of boots on the wooden decking. A small flicker of heat in her heart warned her to get up; to hide. Her body didn't respond when she tried to scrabble further into the shadows and fear resumed its hold on her. Odvar was coming back to finish her off, not have his way with her, but to kill her. She was going to be another of Riften's dead orphans floating face-down on the canals, just as she had thought earlier.

It was the deep thrum of someone's voice that made her crack her lids open.

She didn't see his face, but the horned helm loomed over her and blocked out what little light the lanterns gave from above the canal. The dark glint of two pinpricks of light shone in the dark - his eyes. A shuddery gasp passed her lips and she tried to turn her head away, afraid of what might happen, but her blurry eyes saw his hands as he raised them. He wasn't missing a thumb. All his fingers were intact and a beautiful golden glow surrounded them.

Bands of golden light spread from his fingers and soaked her body with true warmth. She softly gasped as the magic washed over her, melting away the frozen ice in her bones and garments. His rough hands brushed over her, a worn forefinger oh-so-gently grazing the cut on her lip and sealing it shut. By the time he reached her wrist, her eyes were fully open as she gazed at his dark figure. The bright wash spread over her wrist and sank into the worst of the pain, rebuilding and healing. Still, she shivered as the warmth faded from his hands and dimmed across her body, leaving her in her soaking clothes once more.

He gathered her up in his arms and she felt her head tilt back to gaze at him. The helm he wore masked his face but she could see the glint of his eyes still. Dark stubble covered his neck and he wore a fur cloak with armour beneath it, much like Odvar, but there was something so much more sinister about this man. He was the stereotypical massive Nord, but he exuded an intense sort of power not of this world. A darkness surrounded him, not so much physical but spiritual or perhaps magical. She couldn't understand it.

His rocking steps lulled her into a gentle sleep. Her head lolled back on his arm and she felt the gentle brush of snowflakes landing on her lashes.

* * *

The scent of incense and the light crackling of a nearby candle were the first sensations Amelie awoke to. She was warm and comfortable, soft fabric pressing against her skin as she opened her eyes and turned to face the room.

She was tucked snugly beneath blankets and furs on a bed, the room was brightly coloured and a mudcrab's carcass was proudly hanging on the wall above her bed. Glancing down at herself, she found she was wrapped in an orange robe and shifted the blankets aside to get a better look. Her dress was nowhere to be seen in the room, only a table and chairs and anther bed took up the modest room along with a stack of shelves. Despite its sparseness, the room was very clean.

There was no way to tell how long she had been asleep. There were no windows and she honestly felt she had been asleep for a thousand years. She heard some laughter outside the closed door, the haughty chuckle of a female Dunmer. Crawling from beneath the blankets she stood and tightened the belt of the robe a little more tightly about her body before tip-toeing to the door and turning the handle. She nudged the door open just a little to peek out.

A dark eye was peering back at her, sandy blonde hair shaggily hanging over a Nordic face. Amelie moved back from the door as it opened and the smiling Nord monk walked in, a bowl of steaming soup in his hands.

"Good to see you're awake, lass."

She stared at him suspiciously but her gaze dropped far too quickly to the bowl of soup to show any pretense of wariness. She was starved, and her stomach made that claim all-too-vocal. The Nord chuckled and placed the warm bowl in her hands, watching as she greedily started to drink it up.

"You're lucky you were found. A moment longer and you might have frozen down there."

The soup dripped from her chin as she lowered the bowl, staring. The memory of the mysterious Nord slammed back into her memory and the events of last night. Suddenly her appetite was gone and she shakily placed the bowl down on the table, leaning on one of the chairs as she tried to process it all.

"It's all right. You're safe now."

"I... who was he?"

"Arinbjorn, Thane of Solitude. They call him Dovahkiin."


	2. Chapter 2

Dawn's sunlight seeped over the roofs of Riften like warm honey. The snow had ceased but there was still the light chill of night floating on the air. Amelie stood at the front door to the Temple of Mara, peeking out as the light glinted on the buildings' edges. Tugging the orange robes a little more tightly about herself, she shut the door and turned back to face the statue of Mara.

Her mind was consumed with the haunting image of the Nord who rescued her almost a fortnight ago. His healing spells had worked their magic almost immediately on her, but the monks of the Temple of Mara had told her to stay a while and rest. She hadn't understood their kindness until they told her that the Dovahkiin had provided gold enough to let her stay. She later found out he had also paid off a bounty that had been placed on her head by Odvar for assault.

Why all the kindnesses? And why hadn't he returned?

Dovahkiin.

She sank down onto one of the benches and stared at Mara's stone image. She had heard the rumors that the Dovahkiin existed in this age, that there was one whom could stop the dragons and speak their tongue. The thought that he could shout their words of power raised the hair on her arms. She had believed he was a dangerous man when she first met him and she hadn't been wrong.

She blew out an exasperated sigh and glared a little at Mara's face.

"For a goddess of love, you don't smile much," she muttered.

As expected of the gods, there was no response. The past two weeks she had been confined to the Temple, Amelie had found herself strangely isolated. Only three of the Temple's monks were regulars through the hall, Maramal, his wife Dinya Balu and the Nord who brought her soup upon her first waking in the Temple, Briehl. There was Alessandra down in the Hall of the Dead, but her rare visits up to the Temple were only to sleep in the bed opposite Amelie's own. Amelie had also seen another monk wandering the courtyard out the back of the Temple but she hadn't ever caught their name.

Today, the Temple was quiet. Briehl had left the Temple on an errand and Maramel and Dinya Balu were yet to leave their chambers. Alessandra disappeared downstairs even before the lightest glimmer of dawn on the horizon. Amelie had eaten bread and tomato soup in silence and offered a polite little prayer at Mara's shrine at the head of the hall, but now she was at a loss as what to do. Other times the monks had kept her busy with sweeping the chapel or helping Briehl cook, but today looked like she might be left to her own devices.

She leaned her arms on the chapel pew before her and scuffed her bare feet beneath, another sigh huffing from her. She hadn't expected to still be in Riften a fortnight after leaving the orphanage. By now she should have been on the road somewhere new and exciting, away from the stink of the canals and the memory of Grelond's cruel ways. In a way, the Temple didn't feel like Riften but she felt like she was stagnating in a place like this. There were no windows, she wasn't allowed to explore the town and she was only able to go out into the courtyard. The monks had said it was the Dovahkiin's express request that she remain in the Temple, away from the people of Riften.

It was another strange kindness, she had come to realise. Keeping her from Riften's ways was giving her a chance. If she had been allowed to go straight back out into the world, what would have happened to her? She might have become a timid thing, creeping in the shadows and begging for coins so she could afford the tiniest chunk of bread. Perhaps the Thieves Guild would have found her slipping her hand into the pocket of a rich merchant's vest and recruited her. Maybe she would have gone on to live a life of crime in the underbelly of the city. In her circumstances, it definitely would have been an option. The kindness was that the Dovahkiin had spared her going that way in life out of necessity.

So why was she still here? Was he going to return or would he send further instruction to Maramal on what to do with her? Amelie had never enjoyed leaving her life in the grasp of someone else's hands, but in those of the Dovahkiin's, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of excitement. Even if he didn't return, she had been given a chance to see that some way or another she would leave Riften and become something better than what life's lot was trying to grant her.

But secretly, she wished he would return.

Amelie found to her surprise she had dozed off leaning on the back of the chapel pew. Maramal was sitting on the bench before her, his body turned so he could gaze at her with his dark Redguard eyes. Dinya Balu had her back to the shrine of Mara up the front, arms folded across her chest in a guarded manner. There was something very serious in both their postures and Amelie straightened her back quickly.

"What's wrong?"

Maramal reached into the sleeve of his robe and presented Amelie with a piece of folded paper. Gently taking it in her slender fingers, she turned it over in her hands and looked at the two Temple monks.

"What is this?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Dinya Balu murmured quietly, her voice solemn.

Maramal's gaze was stony and locked on Amelie. "Alessandra found it folded beside your head on your pillow this morning."

A lump settled in her stomach, although Amelie couldn't be certain why. She didn't stop to ponder what might be worrying her hosts so much and unfolded the paper. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the heavy, black ink print of a hand and the bolded words written below.

_We Know._

"Grelond was found lying in her bed this morning," Maramal said. "Her head was severed from her body."

The note fell from her hands. Maramal strained over the back of the bench to pick it up and hold it between two fingers like it was a dirty thing. His hood darkened his eyes until they were two little brown glints in the shadows of his face. Dinya Balu dropped her hands to her sides in a guarded, measured motion and Amelie could only stare at the two monks like they were alien to her.

Grelond dead. Two weeks out of Honorhall Orphanage and Grelond was dead? It was strangely repulsive yet somehow relieving. But then the terrible realisation of what the note had meant hit her in the chest and a soft gasp escaped her. She stood abruptly, snatching the note back from Maramal and staring at the hand print. The words bore into her mind like the sombre gleam of burning metal, dancing in her thoughts and taunting her with their simplicity.

The words came out like chunky venison soup.

"You... think I killed... Grelond?"

Her knees wanted to drop her straight back down onto the bench but she locked them and stared at Maramal as he solemnly nodded. Yes, they thought she had killed her former tormentor. The writer of the note thought so too. She didn't know what to say or how to react, but her fingers clenched the paper tightly, crumpling it in a fist.

"How long have you been in touch with the Dark Brotherhood?"

Amelie blinked at Dinya Balu, simply too stunned to process what was happening fast enough to keep her answers going as the questions came. She felt her chin quiver and one of her bare feet took a halting step back. The back of her leg hit the bench but she didn't sit. Although the strength had been wanting to flee from her only moments ago, now a thrill was racing through her veins, willing her to run. Shivers ran up and down her spine and where she had been feeling almost numb with shock, now the sensations within her heart were driving her very bones to trembling.

"I'm not a killer." Quiet. Too quiet.

Maramal stood, straightening himself to loom over Amelie with only the bench between the two of them. It felt like nothing more than a twig. His fingers oh-so-slightly spread and he looked down his long nose at her.

"Amelie, I would hope you remain still while Dinya goes and gets the guards. I wouldn't want to have to hurt you."

This simply couldn't be happening. Dinya Balu stepped towards the door, her black eyes cautiously remaining on Amelie with a cold distrust as she moved. Amelie felt a freezing fist clench her heart. She was on her own again. The people she thought she could trust didn't trust her back and were going to simply turn her over to the Riften guard for a crime she didn't commit. The Dovahkiin's wishes for her, whatever they were, now fell on deaf ears. The Temple monks weren't going to harbor a murderer.

Her body sprang into action before her mind even knew what she was doing. Amelie leaped at Dinya Balu, shoving the older woman to the floor before racing for the door. Maramal yelled and she heard a _woosh_ sound speed behind her as she yanked the door open and threw herself out. A scorching heat slammed into her back and she yelped as Maramal's firebolt flamed across the back of her robes. She rolled down the stairs and fled from the courtyard, smoke rising from her clothing as she sprinted. The crackle of lightning snapped behind her but it didn't strike like the firebolt had - she didn't stop to see who had cast it.

Adrenaline tore her from the Temple grounds and onto the streets of Riften. She didn't feel the hard stones bite into her bare feet or even the burns she knew would be scathed across her back. For some reason, as she darted through the Riften market avoiding people left and right, her chaotic mind was on the image of Mara. The statue had looked so mournful despite being the goddess of love, tears seemingly stained on her stone cheeks. It was how Amelie felt at this moment - alone, terrified of what the future had to hold. She was no goddess of love, but there was an abrupt realisation that there was nobody to love her and nobody for her to love back.

Nobody cared.

But someone _had_. Just for a brief moment of kindness, there was one man who had borne her to a safe place and paid for her stay there. He had paid off a bounty that was near on forty gold, and he had healed her. He had kept her alive and started off a life that might have given her something of a chance.

As she pushed her way out the back door of Riften (past Honorhall Orphanage), she made a promise to herself. She was not going to become the beggar, the thief, or the assassin that everyone in Riften would soon believe she was. The startled guard outside the gate didn't so much as try to stop her as she fled down the path. Words formed on her lips as frustrated tears slid down her cheeks but she didn't stop running.

She whispered to the morning air. She promised herself she would not give up and become something out of convenience.

"I'm something more."

She didn't stop running for a long time. At first she followed the path that wound its way south-west, but a mill creaked in the distance and she soon found the location of a small farm. She abruptly broke off into the forest, north. She didn't want to be near people. That was the last direction she was certain of.

She found Lake Honrich, and vaguely recalled that she would be heading west to make certain she didn't return to Riften. Her bare feet dug into the mulchy dirt and colorful fallen leaves as she stumbled along but soon she came to realise just how much her back pained her. Marmal's firebolt had done some damage and as the adrenaline wore off she noticed it more and more. Still, she didn't stop moving. It was only a matter of time before Maramal and Dinya Balu got the town guards onto her. And then all of the Rift guards would come to know what she had supposedly done. She needed to get out of these robes and hidden before she could stop running.

She came to a bridge which led off across the lake to an island but she didn't turn. Her bright orange robes stood out even against the forest's bronze colors and she was loathe to give anyone the chance to see her. It was when she saw the old fort across the lake that she finally stopped running. Its tower seemed to be destroyed but she was certain it would be a good spot to hide up for a little while. Maybe she could find some old clothes there, or perhaps even armor. Wandering along the shoreline, she tried to find a way to cross but further up the lake she found another farm - she didn't dare cross it in the fear that she might be spotted. Regretfully, she pressed her feet into the soggier mulch of the lake and drove herself into the water.

Her toes touched the mud and muck of the lake's bottom until about half way across what was more a slow-moving river than the lake. At the halfway point her toes lost purchase on the soggy ground and she kicked to propel herself forward through the water, always keeping her head above the surface for air.

The structure might have once been a mighty fort but now it was broken and decaying. For a moment she feared that such a place might still be occupied but as she slunk from the water and approached, she realised she was quite alone.

Amelie entered the fort from a hole in the wall, seemingly made into a makeshift gate at some point in time. Rubble littered the stone rooms as she passed through their empty spaces. There was a door to go further into the fort but a dread settled in her stomach at the thought of lingering into those dark places where anything could lurk in the depths. She padded her way up a crooked flight of stairs covered in moss, lichen dangling from the rocks above brushing her head with a spider-like touch. She came out into the sun on a broad stone platform overlooking a dull courtyard. Down there she could see the glint of polished animal skulls and littered bones. A chill shuddered down her sore, cold and aching back.

Still, behind her there was another platform higher up and this one had a rickety wooden staircase and bridge built up to it. Cautiously she stepped up over the rough wood, gaining several splinters as she went, but at the top she found she was level with the hill behind the fort. Throwing a glance up at the decayed tower before her, she slipped down the broken stone wall to the hillside, dirt again meeting her weary soles. A brisk walk around the tower's structure proved there was no way into it from the outside and she again climbed up the stone wall to stare glumly out over the fort.

She walked the walls and that was eventually how she found the door in to another tower she hadn't even seen before it had been so decayed. Tiredly, she stomped her way up the stone stairs and puffing and panting, came out again into the sunlight. However, across a short platform was the door to the tower she had been aiming for originally. By now her back was in agony and she could feel her tender skin shift every time she moved. Hastily she made her way to the door, hoping against all odds that it wasn't locked. It wasn't.

She pushed the door shut behind her and glanced down at the pile of hay that lay dry at the bottom of the tower's stairwell. Again, she clambered up the stairs and found a wooden structure at the top. Still, it was too open to the elements and she slunk back downstairs. The hay pile beckoned to her and she fell into its soft, itchy embrace. She was careful to keep her back from touching anything and she fell into a deep, deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Something that Amelie had always taken for granted was the place she slept. She had always slept on a thin straw mattress, in Honorhall Orphanage and in the Temple of Mara. The blankets had always been mildly itchy and there had always been a scent of mouldy, aged straw. The last bed she could remember laying in had been incredibly itchy and not all that comfortable at all, but whatever the last place she had slept had actually been… it was better than this.

It was like her soul woke before her body did. Her mind swam drunkenly and she could hardly feel her limbs. But her back, oh she could most certainly feel that. The burns on her skin were pressed to the coarse, cold floor and the scent of blood filled her nostrils with such an intensity she felt she was going to be ill.

Her lids opened slowly and she foggily made out the details of wooden beams above her. Lurching, she rolled onto her side and whimpered in barely-supressed pain at her burns. She wanted to curl in a ball and hide away from the terrible sensation crawling across her ruined skin but she knew she did not have that luxury. Something terrible had happened. She was no longer in the last place she had slept and her mind felt as thick as honey, her thoughts struggling through it like fish in muddy waters. She had never been drunk or even had anything stronger than mead but this was how she imagined a hangover would feel.

She could hear the crackling of a nearby hearth. The floor finally came into focus and that was when she saw the blood. Her heart spiked in fear. Was that her own? It was so thick and fresh, so vibrant in color. Had all that come from her!?

"Sleep well?"

The adrenaline chased that dull feeling from her mind within a heartbeat. Amelie was on her hands and knees staring at the corner of the… the room where a woman wearing a cowl lounged. She rested with a supple grace, her head tilted with a playful attitude which somehow undermined her darker surroundings.

If the appearance of the blood and the strange woman hadn't been alarming enough, the room certainly topped both surprises. Smeared all over those shabby wooden walls was blood. Dried, thick blood. It decorated the room like a child would delightfully splatter a board with paint. Amelie's veins felt like ice ran through them as she distractedly glanced about herself. The hole in the roof whistled lightly at the edges of its ragged entrance while snow and old leaves desecrated the floor of this unholy place.

"Wh-..."

She looked back to the woman, her hands coming up to protectively grasp at her upper arms in a sort of lonely embrace.

"Where am I?"

"Does it matter?" Her head tilted the other way, her eyes twinkling with a seductive smile that Amelie could only feel death in. "You're warm, dry… and very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod. Hmm?"

The coldness in her heart had truly gripped her for she felt no warmth this stranger spoke of. Her heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest from fear and she felt the tremble in her knees as she haltingly rose to her feet.

"I didn't do that."

"Oh? Half of Skyrim knows what you did, child."

That tiny glint of her eyes spoke measures. Oh she was laughing, she was certainly smirking at Amelie and she held no regard for the fact they were speaking of a murder. It was all a game to her. A dangerous game that Amelie was suddenly wrapped up in.

"Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? By a former charge? Things like that tend to get around."

"I…"

"Oh, but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot." Another head tilt, a relaxed swing of her leg dangling from the shelf she sat on. "Ah, but… there is a slight problem."

Amelie breathed deep, her fists clenching as her eyes shut for a moment. Her breath shuddered and she swallowed hard before exhaling.

"I didn't do it. You have to believe me."

The woman laughed, a musical tune that willed Amelie to dash her head upon the floor to be rid of this nightmare.

"Ah, child. With a face like yours I'm sure that's what you tried to tell everyone else. However, I believe you may not realise you are need of refinement. You see, you kill messy. I like that. It's a sweet… personal touch. But you cannot be messy when the killing is done. You must cover your tracks, and frankly… you didn't do a very good job of that."

"I swear, I… I swear on whatever god or goddess you hold dear, I could not kill Grelod."

"But you did." The glint fell from her eyes, her brows replacing it with an expression Amelie didn't want to investigate any further. "You killed old Grelod and stole a kill from the Dark Brotherhood. From me."

She slid from the bookcase she perched upon with the fluidity and silence of a cat. She pulled a long, black blade from nowhere and presented it hilt-first to Amelie in the most casual gesture the poor Breton girl could have imagined.

"And it is time for you to repay that kill you owe me."

Amelie refused to raise her hand to accept the blade. Her fingers shook and she tried to stare the woman down, willing herself with all her might to not flinch but it was no secret she was doing poorly. Finally she turned her head away.

"I'm not a killer."

The woman's hands closed about her fingers in a vice grip as she forced the hilt into Amelie's grasp. The girl gasped and she stared fearfully as the woman's eyes grew close as did the blade they held in joined hands. That blade touched the skin of her throat.

"I say otherwise."

Heart hammering, Amelie's fingers grasped the hilt a little tighter as her captor took a slow, almost lazy step back in such a graceful manner it was almost like her feet never touched the bloodied, snow-covered floor or disturbed the leaves.

"If you turn around, you'll notice my guests."

They had been silent the entire time. Amelie turned to look upon the three forms kneeling with their arms behind their backs. Executioner hoods were cupped over their heads, covering their faces. She could easily see one was a woman while the other two were men, one of which appeared to be a Khajiit. The breath that shuddered from her lips whitened the cool air and she held the blade like it was a dirty thing.

"You see, one of them has a contract on them and cannot leave this room alive. Oh, but… which one?" She almost giggled, Amelie could feel it. "Go on, why don't you see which you should kill?"

She heard the Khajiit whimper and mutter something like a beggar's prayer to his god or goddess. The woman didn't even acknowledge him.

"Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe… and admire."

The white puffs of air coming from her lips had increased in intensity and Amelie shook her head wildly. She gasped for breath with the weight that she felt had been pressed on her chest. This simply could not be happening. She wanted to say something, anything. She wanted to run, but she could plainly see the single door of the room was locked tight. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to fight. She didn't want any part in this insanity, of this life that was not hers at all.

Apparently she was taking too long because the woman sighed and leaned against the bookshelf once more.

"You don't leave this room until someone dies, child. Make your choice."

She looked at the blade in her shaking hand. Couldn't this monster see she was no killer? She had never held such a terrible thing – something that spiritually dripped with the souls of all that had been killed by it. It was made of a black metal and the longer she held it the less Amelie wanted anything to do with it. She could feel the evil of the object and the evil of its bearer. With shaky breaths and a hammering heart she raised her eyes to the stranger.

"Who are you?"

"I am Astrid of the Dark Brotherhood. And I believe you would make a fine addition to our family… if you would hurry up and kill someone, by Sithis!"

She was forced to turn out of self-preservation and advance on the three captives. Everything in her screamed in fear, disgust and a whole array of emotions she could never hope to name. This was the world she had come out of the orphanage into. Slow steps of her bare feet through the dried blood and snowy sludge on the floor bore her nearer and nearer to those three individuals and her heart cried out. She didn't want to kill. She could not live with that, but she could not live without committing the worst crime she could think of.

Amelie stood before the Khajiit. He was breathing just as heavily as she was, white puffs of air seeping from his hood. That air danced around the blade as she held it before his face, her nostrils flaring and her lip trembling as her arm gradually steadied. It didn't matter which one she killed, she knew that. All Astrid wanted was a life gone. One life. She had her game and she wanted Amelie to play it.

Grelod had played games. She had manipulated the children, played favorites and been an outright cow to those poor orphans. Amelie could remember hundreds of times that woman had pulled the wool over her eyes to betray a young child's trust again and again. She had told Amelie things about her dead parents that she was forced to believe with no other evidence of a former life but what Grelod told her. And those things she had been told were not pleasant. There were stories she told the children to drag them down to the ground and stomp them into submission.

Then there was Odvar. His game had been different. His was not a game of manipulation but of power and control. Had she not torn his thumb from his hand and escaped into the canals of Riften there was every possibility she would not be alive. And if she had survived without attacking him, she would be dealing with the trauma of what he had done to her.

But she had hurt Odvar. She had done the worst thing of her life to him and it had ensured her survival. It had ensured she would be safe, but forever changed.

And already, so soon, she was in the game of another. But no more.

She twirled, the dagger spinning from her fingers to fly through the air. It buried itself blade-first into the wood of the bookshelf Astrid so casually leaned against. There was no visible reaction from the woman with the glinting eyes but Amelie knew she had her attention. The cloud of her breath surrounded her head in giant puffs as she clenched her fists and stood tall, her head raised high and her stance wide in defiance.

The words were strong, her voice surprisingly steady.

"I am not a killer, and you will not make me become one."

The power of saying such a thing, of taking control over her own destiny, that made her feel like she stood a chance in this world. If there was one thing she could hold herself to, that was her morals and her inner strength. Even if this woman slit her throat right here and now she would not have destroyed her own life by taking those of others who did not deserve it.

"That's a shame. You were doing a fine job until I brought you here."

Astrid's fingers closed about the hilt of the blade and she tugged it free from the wood with little effort. Her gaze remained on Amelie as she advanced on her, quiet steps bringing her closer and closer until the two stood eye-to-eye. That glint in her gaze intensified as the blade delicately touched against Amelie's belly.

"Somebody still has to die."

Amelie refused to let herself bend to that terrible gaze of her tormentor. How many years, just for this? Just to be killed at the hands of someone who didn't know a thing about her? She would die known for the murder of Grelod the Kind, for the assault on Odvar. She would die an orphan, a nobody, a criminal.

Her hand caught that terrible blade and she whacked it aside. It clattered against the distant wall. Astrid certainly hadn't been expecting anything of that nature as surprise glimmered in her eyes for a moment before Amelie brutally struck her across the face with that very same fist she had hit Odvar with. Her fingers bloodied from the blade, she did not hesitate to strike Astrid again. By the third hit the older woman had recovered herself and caught Amelie's fist in her gloved hand, holding tightly. Amelie didn't stop to think.

The Breton's teeth caught the scarf covering Astrid's face and ripped it away. Astrid didn't seem accustomed to this clumsy method of fighting and made a grab for the scarf but Amelie had no interest in it. She lunged forward, her feet scrabbling against the ground and her free hand yanking at the cowl. Her teeth met flesh and she tore wildly as Astrid's screams rent the air. Blood bubbled into her mouth and she felt Astrid's hands desperately grabbing at her to pull her away from her neck. The woman's fingers dug into her burns and Amelie released her bloody vice grip to cry out. Astrid threw her away like one would a piece of trash and Amelie hit the wall.

With blood dripping down her face and soaking through her robes, Amelie scrabbled to her feet once more… but not before almost cutting herself with the blade by her foot. She grabbed it up as Astrid threw herself at her, a fist prepared to come into contact with the young Breton's face… but she never made the strike true.

There was a sickening crunch as their bodies met and Amelie was crushed against the wall, Astrid's fist lazily grazing off past the girl's ear. There was a soft cry, a grunt, then a gurgle as Astrid stared at her with confused eyes. And as the two gazed at each other, blood poured from Astrid's mouth and she began to cough. Amelie could feel the warmth of the woman's life leaking out onto her hand as she tightly gripped that blade. She had buried it deep in Astrid's chest.

Astrid smiled. It was a horrible smile, bloody and macabre. She then chuckled, blood bubbling between her teeth with each halting giggle.

"You made yourself a killer. Well done."

Astrid slid back, taking the blade with her as she slumped to the floor. Amelie stared with haunting intensity at the woman as the last breath shuddered from her in a puff of white air and bubbling of blood at the corner of her mouth. The glint faded from those eyes and the white pallor of death came over her.

She was gone.

Amelie didn't feel for the longest moment. A numbness unlike any other came over her and she felt as if her soul had abandoned her body. The stark red of the blood on Astrid's neck seemed to blur in her vision. The taste of blood on her tongue soured and finally she turned to vomit on the floor as her soul and feeling all came rushing back with a vengeance.

Her body heaved and she shivered in the cool air despite the crackling of the fire not too far away. Sinking to the floor she almost curled in her own vomit as tears freely streamed down her face and she mopped at her bloody, rancid-tasting mouth and chin with a sleeve. It had happened so quickly. How could taking a life be so easy? She certainly hadn't expected to survive that battle, let alone kill the experienced murderer. Was she a killer herself now, or had that only been a mistake? Had it been pure chance Astrid had slid upon the blade like that, her own momentum causing her demise? Amelie couldn't think and she shook with soft sobs.

"Ah… hello?"

She sniffled and rubbed her nose on her sleeve along with the blood and remains of her breakfast of… whenever she had last eaten. It was impossible to tell how long she had been asleep since finding that fort, but she wished she had never awoken. But now she had a job to do, a small purpose to keep her going for a few more minutes.

"Hold on," she murmured to the three kneeling prisoners.

She couldn't allow herself to think as she firmly grasped the hilt of that blade and yanked with all her might. The dagger slid free of Astrid's torso with a most unsavoury sound and Amelie turned her head in case she would vomit again.

She managed to hold her stomach's remaining contents and quickly stepped to the Khajiit, slicing his binds. He reached up to slide off the hood as she moved along and freed the other two. The Khajiit rifled through Astrid's pockets for the key to the shack. She heard their words but didn't react as they all left the shack, some thanks, some rebukes… she couldn't bring herself to care as she found herself kneeling before the hearth, staring into the flames.

The blade clattered to the wooden floor before her and she burst into tears.

She knelt there, rocking herself as if to settle the pain. The pain of her back, the pain of the past fortnight and the pain of what she had been through tonight. She didn't know where she was, there was blood all over her and she had killed a living being. Fifteen years in an orphanage did not prepare anyone for a life like this.

Her sobs wracked her body as she curled down on the ground, holding herself tightly in a hug. The same numbness stole over her that she had felt when Astrid's life fled and she just closed her eyes and surrendered to what she hoped was sleep.

Heavy steps on the wooden floor were what woke her but she didn't move for fear of letting the visitor know she was awake. The hearth no longer burned but only glowed with faint embers and a cold wind whistled through the hole in the roof. Stealthily her fingers closed about the blade again, hoping against hope she wouldn't have to use it.

The steps came right up to her. She closed her eyes, almost willing whatever would happen to happen. Perhaps she deserved to die.

Then large hands brushed over her. They were thickly calloused yet gentle in motion. And a deep voice thrummed, that same deep voice that she had heard once before. Her tear-stained face turned as he gently spoke to her.

"I'm so sorry."

Her tears started anew as she turned into his embrace. She didn't look at his face, it was shadowed by the helm anyhow. She just wrapped herself against his chest as he gently held her in his thick arms. He smelled like the sea and lavender and she buried her face into his shoulder, into the musky warmth of his fur cloak. She felt herself lifted as he enveloped her in that beautiful hide and rested her against his firm body. His stubbled neck lightly grazed her ear as he adjusted her in his arms.

"It will be okay, lass."

Gently she tilted her head back, her gaze on his helm. The tiniest twinkle of his eyes behind that metal made her wish he would reveal his face. She reached out with timid hands, lightly resting them on either side of the helm as if asking permission. He didn't move, those twinkling eyes glittering at her through the eye slots.

She carefully lifted the helm from his head, revealing a strong Nordic jaw with the beginnings of a thick beard. His facial structure was strong and beautifully sculptured but there was no hiding the horrendous scars that crisscrossed his skin. They were thick and white, healed with time rather than magic. Her gaze lingered on them before finally rising to meet his own eyes. They were a deep, dark brown much like her own but they burned with such an intensity she almost shied away from his stare. There was regret in those eyes and a strength that left her feeling she was in the presence of an otherworldly being. His gaze softened a little as the awe became evident on her face.

He gently brushed a hand over her face before sliding it down beneath the fur of the cloak, his fingers travelling over the curve of her shoulder and to her back. She stared at him as he gazed back but then she felt that beautiful soothing sensation wash over her. The faintest gold glowed from beneath the fur as weaves of healing magic passed over her body and she closed her eyes to relish the feeling as her flesh mended.

Gradually she slit her eyes open to peer at him and he smiled, several of his scars bending strangely as he did so. His hands were gentle on her, one still supporting her freshly healed back and the other gently cradling her against his chest.

"You're Arinbjorn, Thane of Solitude."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," he purred in a deep Nordic accent.

"Amelie," she almost whispered to him in that intimate moment as he held her close to keep her warm. "Orphan of Riften."

There was a moment of silence before his voice rumbled once more.

"Did you just make that up?"

She hesitated.

"That's a terrible title. We must get you a new one."

Despite herself she laughed. Her laughter turned to tears and she cried into his chest of out relief. He chuckled with her and held her all the more gently as he gathered her up and took her out of that terrible place. She clung to him like a babe and watched as that horrible bloody shack was left behind and the wooden roof was replaced by stars twinkling in the beautiful northern lights. The gentle lapping of swamp water and the chirping of night bugs filled the air as he carried her off into the low-lying mists.


End file.
